The Minor Fall, The Major Lift
by Keira-House M.D
Summary: Sherlock keeps on falling and, to his continuing surprise, Molly Hooper always seems to catch him. Sherlolly.
1. I Used To Live Alone Before I Knew You

**Chapter 1: I Used To Live Alone Before I Knew You**

**Molly Hooper meets Sherlock Holmes in her second year of university, and in the seven years that follow she watches him fall to his drug addiction time and time again, pass out too many times to count and almost die. Yet she always remains, mopping up, crying and worrying, until she manages to put him back together enough for him to get the help he truly needs. Pre-Sherlolly.**

* * *

Molly Hooper meets Sherlock Holmes in her second year of university, and in the seven years that follow she watches him fall to his drug addiction time and time again, pass out on her sofa too many times to count and almost die. Yet she always remains, mopping up, crying and worrying, until she manages to put him back together enough for him to get the help he truly needs.

Molly hated seeing Sherlock when he was high. It made her feel sad and helpless and scared and angry all at the same time.

_Sad_. It hurt her to see him like that, pupils dilated, talking even faster than he usually did and an unkemptness that bothered her immensely, considering how put-together his appearance normally was.

She had cried so many times, upset that he felt he needed the drugs to get just a few moments of peace, to get his brain to slow down enough to just rest.

His intellect and deductive capabilities were, to Sherlock, his greatest achievement, and it hurt her to see him suppress that (and with such a dangerous substance as drugs).

_Helpless_. She was studying the dead, working on corpses, not real, breathing bodies. It was what she'd always wanted - she had an interest in the stories the dead told, and she had never wanted to be a doctor working on the living. Despite this, when she saw Sherlock high, and especially on the occasions when he lost consciousness (or worse), she wished she knew more.

She was much better than the non-medical population, but not good enough when it came to helping Sherlock when he was too far gone. All she could ever do in those situations was stabilise him as best as she could and call an ambulance.

It made her feel useless - what point was there to all her training and her degree if she couldn't help her best friend (and Sherlock _was _her best friend) when he needed it.

She felt helpless too, that she couldn't stop his involvement with drugs. She tried, but she could never quite bring herself to be strong or forceful enough. That was one of her weaknesses, and sometimes she hated herself for it.

_Angry_. The drugs made her furious with him, indignant that he'd ruin himself in such a way.

They were both intelligent enough, and had seen enough, to know the dangers of drugs, but Sherlock didn't seem to care at all. She felt like hitting him so many times, especially since the drugs made him crueller in his words towards her.

She never slapped him though, despite the numerous daydreams she entertained about doing just that. Molly got angry, but she was also good at controlling that anger - a good trait when one knew someone like Sherlock Holmes (although a good slap would probably have done him some good).

_Scared_. Sherlock never usually scared Molly. He made her sad, annoyed and worried, but never scared ... not unless he was very high.

The drugs changed him, blurred the lines of acceptable behaviour even more for him. He loomed over her, shouted and ranted, sometimes gripped her wrist or arm a little too tight (she always tried to hide that from him later).

Sometimes it felt like she was in an abusive relationship, but she couldn't give up on Sherlock he only ever behaved in such a way when he was high, and the truth was he didn't seem to have anyone else, apart from his brother Mycroft (and to say that relationship was strained was an understatement).

The drugs ruined him, and it broke her heart. Even through his worst, though, when she just wanted to run away and forget him (as if that could ever happen), she stayed.

She stayed because, despite everything, she loved him.

No one could say that he was really taking advantage of her, because she wanted to be around him, and in his drug-addled state all he could often think about was his next fix, not how to get her to stay and use it to his advantage.

It was stupid, and it would possibly (probably) get her into trouble some day. But she knew the world needed Sherlock Holmes, and she was determined that while he might continue to fall due to his addiction, eventually she might manage to catch him.

* * *

Molly Hooper met Sherlock Holmes when she was a second year at university.

He deduced almost everything about her during their first, chance meeting in the one of the university labs.

He had, she learnt, completed a chemistry degree of some sort at the same time she had finished her first year. He was now supposedly doing a Masters, but she never seemed to see an evidence of that. Instead, he tended to spend most of his time doing experiments in the labs.

That was how they met. He needed an extra pair of hands, deduced she was competent and asked (or rather demanded) she help.

It became a pattern, even if he did complain that her studies meant she wasn't free to help him often enough.

"I have to do well, Sherlock," she reminded him constantly, "this is my dream."

He continued to complain, but it lacked any real malice, so she guessed that he understood.

Molly had scarcely noticed the beginnings of her crush on Sherlock. It just sort of happened, bit by bit, until one day she realised how much she cared about the genius sociopath. The crush turned to love over time, even when Sherlock treated her like rubbish, even through the drugs.

Molly was incredibly loyal (a friend told her once she'd make an excellent Hufflepuff) and Sherlock was her first real friend. She had never been particularly lonely, but few wanted to be close friends with a girl who had such a fascination with the dead, while Sherlock seemed to partly like her _because _of it.

Sherlock seemed fairly oblivious - thankful really, since he would no doubt have mocked her for such sentiment.

She dated occasionally, refusing to let her feelings for Sherlock, which were likely to go nowhere, get in the way of potential happiness. She might as well have not bothered. Her dates could never quite compare to Sherlock, and when she went out with someone, there was about a fifty per cent chance that the date would end up crashed by Sherlock, wanting her assistance or just being annoying.

He told her he was just saving her the time she would have spent finding out how wrong her dates were for her. Then he proceeded to give her a long list of their flaws - eventually she got so frustrated that she stopped dating for the most part, and Sherlock looked triumphant for weeks.

She hoped it might mean he was jealous and didn't know how to deal with it, that he might actually return her feelings one day. She doubted it though. Mostly, she ended up consumed with trying to keep him alive and healthy.

It wasn't how she pictured her life, but she couldn't let Sherlock go - she loved him too much.

* * *

Molly's meetings with Sherlock were sporadic. One week she might see him every day, then he could vanish for a month before reappearing as if he'd never left.

It took her an embarrassingly long time to work out about the drugs. She was just so pleased to have a friend like him (despite his personality flaws) that she didn't want to see his deteriorating appearance, continuing (and lengthening) disappearances and occasional erratic behaviour.

She did try, for a while, to get him to stop. Pamphlets and books were useless in appealing to him, so she only tried to speak with him, to recommend good rehab programmes.

It didn't work and he only got worse.

He disappeared two years after she met him. She had so desperately wanted to save him. All she could take comfort in was the one text she received from an unknown number.

_He's alive - MH_

Those two words from Mycroft were all that really kept her worry to reasonable levels over the next year.

Then, as suddenly as he had gone, he was back again.

Unfortunately, so were the drugs, and it couldn't be denied - he was addicted.

She kept trying to get him to stop. She tried too many methods to count. They all failed.

She tried again.

It continued like that for a few years.

There were some scares, but Sherlock, while pushed into visiting A&E occasionally, never actually needed to be hospitalised (in his opinion, if she had her way it would have been a different matter entirely).

There was one memorable attempt of Mycroft's to force his wayward younger brother into rehab. Sherlock lasted seven hours before he escaped the facility.

Mycroft washed his hands of it all after that, though she did sometimes catch sight of a person who didn't belong watching her when Sherlock was present - so Mycroft still kept an eye on the situation.

It wasn't all stress and drugs and disaster. Sherlock wasn't high all (although after a while it was certainly most) of the time.

When there were no drugs he was almost like his old self, and they'd do experiments and solve cold cases Sherlock managed to find. It was fun, though she learnt never to mention the drugs during those periods, or any positive atmosphere would soon evaporate.

Still, the drugs escalated, and those happy moments became rarer.

* * *

Everything changed one day, seven years after Molly had first met Sherlock.

That day, Molly saved Sherlock's life for the first (and, she would later realise, not last) time.

Molly rarely went to Sherlock's flat. They met mostly in the labs or various locations around London, even occasionally at her flat. His flat had been in a nice area, and relatively sanitary (he had a cleaning service) to begin, but when he dropped the charade of doing a Masters and left the university for good, he moved to an area that could only be called dodgy. At the time, she had no idea why, since he had money. It was only later that she realised it put him in closer proximity to drugs.

She didn't like to go to that flat because it was so blatantly the home of an addict, with needles and other drug paraphernalia scattered around. She was worried enough as it was, and didn't need further visual proof.

Sherlock had called earlier, though, to ask her to meet him at a fish and chip shop close to the university. He hadn't really explained way, only muttered that it was for a case and then hung up. When he didn't show she'd waited around for an hour. Then she started to get worried.

She told herself he'd just forgotten, or that he'd become sidetracked by another case or experiment. Yet, he had mentioned this case was a 9 on his scale, and that wasn't the sort of thing he'd easily choose to miss. She thought she'd check his flat, just in case.

She thanked whatever higher power there was every day that she'd decided to go to his flat.

She had a spare key, which he'd given her only so he didn't have to be interrupted in order to open the door. She entered the flat and tried not to gag at the smell and the mess.

All thoughts about the state of the flat left her head when she spotted Sherlock sprawled on the floor, even paler than normal and with needle tracks visible up both of his arms (she didn't want to imagine what he might look like elsewhere).

He was, she discovered as she dropped down next to him and put her fingers to his neck, almost lacking a pulse. It was faint, fainter than it had ever been during Sherlock's many losses of consciousness. She had a horrible feeling his heart could stop at any moment.

She puller her mobile out and dialled 999, relieved that she found herself able to speak quite clearly to the operator, describing Sherlock's symptoms, his history of drug abuse, how he looked and his failing pulse. They told her they'd send an ambulance immediately, that it should be no more than five or ten minutes.

Unfortunately, she wasn't sure Sherlock's heart could hold out that long without medical equipment.

She needed, she thought, to try and get his heart pumping a bit more, to stave off the continuing slowing of his heart, at least until the paramedics arrived.

She did her best. She tried every possible method she could think of to get his pulse a little more lively. She swore at him more in those seven minutes than she ever had before in all the time they'd known each other. She may have also slapped him on the cheek once or twice, to try and rouse him and also to vent a little of her frustration.

He never made a sound, never spoke a word, never opened his eyes.

She'd get his pulse up a little, only for it to slow down almost immediately. It became a cycle, but with each time his pulse seemed to drop even faster.

Just as the ambulance was pulling up, his heart stopped completely.

She continued to try and bring it back until the paramedics arrived to take him down to the ambulance. They let her ride with them and she watched, relieved, as they managed to restart his heart less than three minutes after it had stopped.

She managed to make it to the hospital without bursting into tears. Sherlock, she thought, would have been proud of her.

Mycroft called her while she was in the waiting room. He told her he was sending some security to ensure that Sherlock didn't escape from hospital before he was fully healed. She wondered why he didn't come immediately himself, since Sherlock was (italics) his only brother, but then she thought it was probably for the best, considering how poorly they got on.

Sherlock was in surgery for hours, but when the doctor came to speak with her, he assured her that Sherlock would, with some rest, be fine. She couldn't help it then - she started crying.

They let her in to see him a little later on, but he was still unconscious. It hurt to see him, so pale, with bruises on his arms and hooked up to machines. She had planned to go home, but she didn't want to leave him and she had no plans for the next day. Instead, she settled into the chair beside his bed and went to sleep.

No one tried to throw her out - Mycroft's influence was obviously good for something - and she slept for ten hours.

When she woke, Sherlock was looking at her with more emotion than she'd ever seen before from him.

She felt her heart leap at seeing him awake, but it was soon overshadowed by anger at how much danger he'd put himself in.

"You died," she stated coldly, "for three minutes - you bloody died Sherlock!"

"I ... apologise Molly," he replied, looking shamefaced, "I did not mean for it to get that far."

"I just can't believe you," she hissed, "I've been warning you for years. I'm surprised this hasn't happened before. You have to stop this Sherlock."

"Yes, I know," he said, and when she opened her mouth to rant once more about how he needed to get to rehab, she realised what he had actually said and stopped.

"You're going to get clean?" she asked, daring to hope.

"I'm going once they let me out of here," he explained, "Mycroft's found a place and I've promised not to escape again."

She leant back, shocked by his sudden change of heart, "when was this arranged?"

"I woke up a few hours ago, while you were still asleep. Mycroft came in and we sorted things out then."

"You didn't even stir," he said reproachfully, "you really are an appallingly deep sleeper Molly, a rather dangerous habit to have if you ask me."

"Oh shut up," she told him, though she couldn't help but smile - he was finally going to try and stick it out at rehab.

"They told me I would have died."

Sherlock was solemn, his eyes more serious than usual, "if you hadn't come at all, or if you'd arrived later, I would have died. If you hadn't tried to get my heart beating more then I might have died, or at least suffered some brain damage. You saved my life, Molly Hooper."

She blushed, "I'm glad, the world needs Sherlock Homes."

"I won't forget it," he told her, almost earnestly, "Molly Hooper, the woman who saved Sherlock Holmes."

She smiled. Sherlock was finally safe.

* * *

He went to rehab a few days later.

She tried not to be emotional when she said goodbye, knowing how much it would annoy him. It was hard, though, because she wouldn't be able to contact him while he was away. It was for the best, she knew, but that didn't mean she liked it.

He was away for a year and a half. She continued with her pathology training and tried not to worry about how things were going for him.

She got a text from Mycroft letting her know when he was released.

She didn't hear from him for a while, and she knew he was probably getting back on his feet, learning about London and any changes that had come about (he prided himself on his superior knowledge of the city). She wasn't worried, knowing Mycroft would have contacted her if something had gone very wrong.

Six months after Sherlock left rehab, she received a text from Mycroft.

_He's coming - MH_

She grinned.

* * *

This story was inspired by lyrics from the song Hallelujah - the story title and each chapter title is a line, or part of a line, from the song.


	2. There Was A Time When You Let Me Know

**Chapter 2: There Was A Time When You Let Me Know**

**Molly tries not to resent John. She's pleased that Sherlock has found such a close friend. But she also remembers when she was the one Sherlock went to, even when it was reluctantly. Now it seems John always catches him before she does.**

* * *

When Sherlock got back from rehab, she thought things would be better.

It had been terribly lonely while he was away. Spending so much time with him meant she often found other people dull in comparison. She berated herself for that - she was a generally nice person - but couldn't help it. She enjoyed pathology, but she missed the rush and excitement Sherlock brought to her life.

Unfortunately, while he had lost his drug habit, Sherlock also seemed to have almost completely forgotten her during his rehab stay. She knew he deleted information he deemed extraneous from his mind, but Molly had never expected that she would be one of those things.

He knew who she was, and all the information he had deduced that first day they met was still there, but he seemed to have completely removed all the good memories, as well as those involving her helping him during his period of addiction.

He acted like she was practically a stranger to him.

She heard the words he had once spoken to her, after she'd saved his life following his overdose. _"I won't forget it," he told her, almost earnestly, "Molly Hooper, the woman who saved Sherlock Holmes."_

She'd known Sherlock Holmes lied. She'd always hoped that promise was something truthful, but she guessed she would be disappointed. When she returned home to her flat that night, she cried herself to sleep.

Then, the next day, and all the days after, she tried to act like there was nothing wrong. She smiled, helped Sherlock with his experiments, gave him body parts (Mycroft had impressive pull at St. Barts) and let him act as if she was nothing at all to him.

Every now and then, she tried to find that friendship they'd once had, She asked him out for coffee, he acted as if it was just an offer from her to get him a cup. She tried to show interest in his experiments, and he just told her she was thinking too loudly. It was like trying to interact with an annoying brick wall.

Still, he wasn't cruel, only distant. She still thought they were friends, even if he didn't.

The problem was that she loved him. Beyond reason, probably, considering his treatment of her, but it was the truth.

She'd hidden it much better before, when the time they'd spent together experimenting and solving cold cases had been enough. Now, when he gave her nothing, she craved more.

She acted like a schoolgirl with her first crush - it was embarrassing, but she couldn't help it. Perhaps a part of her thought if she was so obvious, he'd _have _to see her feelings, couldn't ignore them. But he did and she gave up, for the most part, though her feelings for him remained as strong as ever.

Her mind told her she was a masochistic idiot.

Nothing changed

* * *

John Watson was, to Molly, both an angel and a devil.

He seemed to be the perfect match for Sherlock in creating a crime-solving duo. Even with his initial reluctance, he was an asset almost immediately. Sherlock took John's praise far better than he ever did hers - with John, he fawned, while with Molly he acted as if it meant nothing and was just expected.

Sherlock had not known John long at all and yet he almost raved about John to her. She hadn't really seen him ever get so excited over something that wasn't an interesting case, an important experiment, annoying Mycroft or (when he was using) drugs.

She was incredibly jealous.

Then, so soon after their first meeting and decision to take a flat together (he never even considered _her _as a potential flatmate), John Watson saved Sherlock's life.

She wasn't sure she'd ever forgive him for that.

Not that she wanted Sherlock to die. She'd never want that. But for so long she'd been the only one there. Sure, there was Mycroft, but he was distant, and Inspector Lestrade was probably a friend to Sherlock, but not like Molly was … or had been.

John was replacing her … no, worse, he was taking her place and making it a better one for himself. Sherlock seemed to care far more about him than Molly. She had saved Sherlock, but now so had John. She wasn't the only one to continually help him. She wasn't special any more.

It continued. He complimented her to get what he wanted and she let him. She saw more of John, though perhaps not as much as expected. Sherlock did turn up alone in the morgue or lab sometimes. She liked those times best, when she could almost pretend it was like old times.

John didn't fade into the background the way she sometimes hoped he would (it was a horrid thought - she sometimes thought she was a terrible person). Sherlock didn't grow bored of him.

She got used to no longer being Sherlock's only saviour.

* * *

Jim from IT seemed nice. He complimented her and enjoyed many of the same things she did, especially Glee (Sherlock scoffed at it all).

It wouldn't work out in a forever kind of way, she knew, but it would be nice to have a boyfriend for a while, especially since Sherlock seemed to have dropped his habit of interrupting her dates (a part of her almost missed him doing it).

And if Jim seemed overly curious about Sherlock, she didn't pay it much mind. To her, Sherlock was vastly interesting, and she didn't think it unusual that someone else might think so too (especially since Jim had never met, and therefore been insulted by, Sherlock).

Then Sherlock had to open his mouth and ruin it all, as usual. She got over her embarrassment as best as she could, broke it off with Jim (who seemed completely unbothered) and went home to try and cheer herself up with a good film, some wine and chocolates. She decided to give dating a rest for a while.

The only minor satisfaction she derived from the entire debacle was John's slight irritation when she momentarily forgot his name (she was a bit preoccupied between Sherlock and Jim).

It was petty and unfair to John, who hadn't really done anything wrong, but it felt rather good to see him experience the feeling of lacking worth - it was what Sherlock made her feel all the time now he had John.

Again, she was a times a rather terrible person.

She really needed to hit Sherlock. It might make her feel better.

She still couldn't find the courage to do it.

* * *

Jim turned out to be Moriarty, who turned out to be a psychopath that almost blew Sherlock and John up.

She felt awful. She had once been the one to save Sherlock. Now she was the one whose ex-boyfriend had tried to kill him.

* * *

Molly didn't know anything about the incident at the pool, where Sherlock and John were so close to death, until there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find herself face to face with a woman who was a complete stranger and yet very familiar.

It was the woman she'd seen on a regular basis. On the same platform in the Underground station, the next table over in a restaurant, or behind her in the supermarket checkout line.

She'd never thought much of it, barely registering that she often saw the woman. Facing her, Molly was unsure and confused about whether or not she should be worried.

The stranger handed her a mobile phone, which immediately started ringing.

"Hello?"

"Doctor Hooper," Mycroft Holmes' distinctive tone came from the speaker, "meet Anthea, my assistant. She'll be staying with you for the night, until some more permanent security can be arranged."

"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Molly, "why do I need security - what's happened?"

"Anthea will explain Dr Hooper. The threat to you is likely minimal at this juncture in time, but it is better, I think, to be safe."

"With that, he hung up and Molly found no other option but to invite Anthea in and wait for an explanation.

Anthea, however, was silent for a while, fiddling away on her Blackberry. Molly couldn't bring herself to demand an explanation - his assistant was almost as terrifying to her as Mycroft (and he scared her entirely too much for a man she had only ever spoken on the phone with).

Eventually, though, Anthea spoke to her.

"James Moriarty is the one responsible for the incidents Sherlock has been dealing with recently. Earlier this evening he lured Sherlock there, where he held Mr Watson with numerous explosives attached. There was an altercation of sorts."

She spoke with no alarm, no emotion at all. It was an impressive talent - to others it might have made her seem quite heartless, but to Molly she just appeared matter-of-fact (after all, she was probably used to such things, working for Mycroft).

Molly couldn't speak. Her ex-boyfriend had tried to kill Sherlock and John. He was the criminal Sherlock had been hunting, a psychopath.

"Are they ok?" she asked quickly and with no little panic, "they haven't been injured? Are they in hospital?"

"Calm yourself Doctor Hooper, both men are quite safe and unharmed at Baker Street. Moriarty found temporary entertainment elsewhere and disappeared."

Molly had a hundred more questions to ask, especially regarding whether they knew Moriarty's current whereabouts, but Anthea seemed disinclined to converse further about the incident. She only dug into her bag, pulling out a box and a sheet of paper, both of which she handed to Molly.

Inside the box was a taser, and the paper seemed to be some sort of special permit allowing her to carry it.

"You might want to look into some self-defence classes too," Anthea told her, "just in case."

She then stood and disappeared off into another room, presumably to do some sort of perimeter check (Molly wasn't really up to date on the sort of security protocols Mycroft's people used).

Molly stayed up almost the whole night waiting for a phone call from Sherlock ... she never got one.

* * *

John showed up at the morgue when she was working the next day. Anthea had vanished by the time she had woken up, leaving a note that told her there would be security watching her for the foreseeable future. She wasn't overly happy at the idea of stalkerish security, but she understood the need for it.

"John!" she cried upon seeing him, "are you ok? I heard what happened, I'm so sorry."  
"You've got nothing to apologise for Molly."  
"I introduced you," she moaned miserably, "I dated a psychopath."  
"You couldn't have known," John reassured her, "not even Sherlock knew until it was there in his face."

He paused, "how do you even know?" he asked, "it hasn't made the news yet. Did Lestrade tell you?"

She shook her head, "Mycroft phoned. His assistant came over."

"Anthea, I met her once. She was quite ... peculiar."

Molly found herself giggling, "a little, yes, but she does work for Mycroft."

Molly was uncommonly pleased to see John. The fact that he'd nearly died had erased most of the resentment she felt towards him, "I'm glad you're ok."

"Believe me, so am I. I thought for sure none of us were getting out of there alive."

"How's Sherlock?" she asked, trying to sound casual and wincing when she saw the expression on his face, full of concern and sympathy - John could obviously tell she had feelings for his flatmate.

"He's fine. Didn't feel like going out, wanted to look over all the information on Moriarty."

"You don't have to lie to make me feel better, John," she sighed, "I know what Sherlock is like."

He didn't seem to care at all. She supposed that her previous relationship with Moriarty made him see her as an even bigger idiot than he already thought she was.

But even Mycroft had checked up on her.

She sighed again. She really needed to get over Sherlock Holmes.

John had obviously noticed her distress, "come on, it's almost one. I'll buy you lunch and fill you in on what happened."

She smiled at him. Perhaps John Watson was not the problem she'd thought he was.

And she really needed a friend.

* * *

The less said about the debacle with 'the woman' and that disaster of a Christmas party, the better.

She finally met Mycroft, though. It was ... interesting.

…...

Sherlock had behaved abominably at the party and, unusually, she had actually called him out on his rudeness. She wasn't quite sure what had come over her, but considering what Sherlock had said to her (and how he'd humiliated her), she thought he deserved her anger.

He had given her an apology, though, which he hadn't done since before rehab. He'd even kissed her cheek and sent her heart fluttering (traitorous thing). She thought he might finally have started to appreciate her, to revert back to their previous friendship.

Then everything had been ruined by Irene Adler's moan on Sherlock's phone (further humiliation) and, later, by Sherlock identifying Irene's body by 'not her face'.

Mycroft was as she had often imagined him. Not as thin as his brother was, but not nearly as fat as Sherlock's words had suggested he was. Imposing without even trying and just as superior as Sherlock could be.

As they waited for Sherlock to arrive, Molly fidgeted and Mycroft simply twirled his umbrella.

"Why are you here, Doctor Hooper?" he asked.

"It's Christmas, everyone else is busy."

"But not you."

"My family are gone, as I'm sure you know Mr Holmes. I don't really have many close friends. I didn't mind coming in, I don't celebrate Christmas much any more."

Mycroft just looked at her, his expression telling her that he knew there was more.

"Sherlock's the closest thing to a best friend I've ever had. Even if he seems to have deleted almost everything from before rehab, I can't forget it. I don't think Sherlock Holmes will ever be out of my system."

He looked at her with pity, a similar expression to the one John had given her. If people didn't stop looking at her like that, she would really start to think she was pathetic.

"Caring is not an advantage, Doctor Hooper."

He didn't say anything else until Sherlock arrived.

Most people would have taken Mycroft's words as a mere warning to stay emotionally detached from Sherlock. Molly didn't see it that way.

Mycroft didn't hate her, and he had showed some concern for her wellbeing (though it was probably just a by-product of her saving Sherlock's life, years previously).

She thought his words were a futile warning. He told her that emotions hurt, and that was true, especially when it came to her emotions for Sherlock. His words also suggested it was his own belief, and probably Sherlock's too. Another warning, telling her that Sherlock was hopeless with emotions (as if she didn't already know that).  
Mycroft was, in his own roundabout way, trying to tell her to move on. Not because he disliked her, but because he thought it would just hurt her.

He was probably right.

Unfortunately, Sherlock Holmes was not the kind of man it was easy to get over.

* * *

When Sherlock and John went to Dartmoor for a case, Molly found herself quite bereft. Sherlock may not have visited the morgue or lab every day, but he was forever texting her with pathology-related questions or requests for lab space and body parts - she missed it, even though the texts were rarely polite and showed little interest in her aside from her close proximity to what he wanted.

Years ago, before rehab, if Sherlock had received such a case (and hadn't been high enough to blow it off) he would have taken her with him. He liked an assistant, an audience, liked someone to talk to (or rather, at) and even valued the rare insight that partner might give that he didn't immediately dismiss.

He never did that now. She did him favours within the confines of the hospital, but she hadn't been on a case with him for years, since before he was released, clean and sober, from rehab.

She missed the cases. It wasn't as much fun in the morgue, where she rarely got to see Sherlock's thought processes at work.

She envied John, and Lestrade too, sent to assist (or baby-sit) by Mycroft. Except she was trying to get over that, now John and Lestrade were both friends. She really needed a hobby.

She went to visit Mrs Hudson instead.

She'd heard quite a lot about Sherlock and John's landlady. Sherlock had mentioned the case to her in passing years previously - how he had ensured Mrs Hudson's abusive husband was found guilty of the murder he had most definitely committed. It was through John, however, that she had learned more, and she was very impressed.

Mrs Hudson was a strong woman, she managed to speak regularly with Sherlock without usually being insulted (and Sherlock definitely defended her) and she managed to cope with being the landlady to a man who regularly liked to shoot his walls and kept all manner of body parts in his fridge. She didn't even seem to hold a grudge against Molly for being the one to provide Sherlock with said body parts.

Mrs Hudson was, quite frankly, brilliant, and Molly wanted to get to know her better, since they had only met once at the disaster that had been the Christmas party, and they hadn't had much chance to talk then.

Mrs Hudson was very welcoming and friendly, pleased to see Molly and happy to have someone to chat with about both Sherlock, John and their bio-hazard of a flat, as well as the more feminine topics her boarders avoided.

Mrs Hudson waved away Molly's apologises about the body parts.

"He wants them, dear, and I know him well enough to realise that he'd find a way even if you didn't help him. At least this way I know he's not getting into too much trouble trying to acquire parts. Better a hospital than a black market on the street, that's what I say dear."

Molly smiled and nodded, guessing that might also be one of the reasons Mycroft ensured access to Barts Morgue for his younger brother.

She and Mrs Hudson enjoyed their meeting so much they decided to meet weekly at 221B for tea and a chat.

* * *

In the end, she did get a hobby. She finally started attending the self-defence classes Anthea had suggested in the wake of the discovery regarding Jim/Moriarty. She'd been meaning to start for ages, but had never got round to it.

She started going once a week, but soon joined the class on another day too. It made her feel stronger.

She also liked the idea that, if she ever actually went through with her regular desire to punch Sherlock, she'd be able to do it properly, without hurting herself.

John and Greg Lestrade laughed hysterically when she told them. Apparently, wanting to smack Sherlock was a common thought for most of those who spent significant time around the consulting detective.

Sherlock had been most disconcerted when he'd walked in and the three of them had just started laughing. He'd sulked for days until Molly bought him a fresh new liver to experiment on and Greg gave him a case he rated an eight.

Of course, he'd gone into another sulk two days later when he'd spoken to Molly about security.

"Lestrade says you won't take a protection detail. He's very indignant about it."

He'd spoken in a bored tone that suggested he didn't care at all, but the fact that he'd even mentioned it gave her some hope. Still, when she explained Mycroft's interference he'd started muttering about high-handed brothers and left soon after, ranting down his phone at Mycroft.

It was better. She wasn't as lonely as she had been before.

Sherlock was still too distant for her liking, but at least she had John and Greg and Mrs Hudson. She'd even managed to make a work friend - a lovely woman called Mary, who was a nurse at Barts. They occasionally went out for drinks and it was nice to know someone not completely caught up in the Sherlock vortex.

She'd once been the one Sherlock confided in (as much as he confided in anybody). She'd picked him up and saved him from a drug overdose. Now, she was just a convenient way to get body parts and his own personal pathologist on-call (again, convenience).

But she had friends. Sherlock hadn't been quite as cold to her since his apology at the Christmas party (and that apology had seemed genuine to her). Things were looking up, and she even had a nice lunch date lined up soon.

So, of course, that's when everything went to hell. That's when Moriarty returned.

* * *

**No beta, so sorry for any mistakes.**


	3. It's A Cold & It's A Broken Hallelujah

**Chapter 3: It****'****s A Cold & It****'****s A Broken Hallelujah**

**He'd told that her she's always counted and he'd always trusted her. It's something she would have loved to hear in any other time. But at that moment, when he was about to leap off the roof and she was going to try and catch him, she would have given up those words from him if only he didn't have to do it.**

* * *

"Molly!"

"Oh hello," Molly said, worried about both Sherlock's overly cheerful demeanour and John's serious expression, "I'm just going out."

"No you're not."

"I've got a lunch date," she told him, quite proud of the fact that she'd managed to get to date number three with James from the Oncology Department.

"Cancel it. You're having lunch with me."

"What?" Her heart skipped a beat. It was one of the things she'd always hoped he'd say to her, and yet she had a strong feeling it would be a working lunch.

She was proved right by his next words; "I need your help. It's one of your boyfriends. We're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty."

"It's Moriarty," John stated, glaring slightly at Sherlock.

"Course it's Moriarty," Sherlock replied, as if there was no other answer (as if she'd never managed to have another boyfriend).

"Jim wasn't actually my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it."

And if that was the only upper-hand she could get over Jim ... no Moriarty, then she would take it. Even if it somewhat terrified her to know she'd broken up with a criminal mastermind.

"Yes, and he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."

Molly scowled at him as he steered her back to the lab. Bloody Sherlock acting as if it was her fault Jim turned out to be a raging psychopath. She started to tell him exactly that, but he was already talking rapidly about the case and she gave up - there were some battles she just would not win.

Later, as they were analysing, he called her John.

She tried not to let it hurt too much.

* * *

Molly watched Sherlock, as she often did, and she saw what she guessed few observed. She knew it probably wouldn't end well for her to voice her observations aloud, but she couldn't help it.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. No, sorry-"

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area."

That stung. Sherlock had often ignored her, but, at least pre-rehab, he'd had conversations with her. Granted, most of them revolved around their shared interest in pathology, but they'd talked about other things too ... once upon a time. She carried on, though, because Sherlock should hear what she thought.

"When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."

It was hard for her, thinking about her dad, and harder still to continue when Sherlock spoke, "Molly," as if it was a warning.

"You look sad. When you think he can't see you."

It was true. In front of John, Sherlock tried to be his usual self. But as soon as his best friend looked away, he didn't just look bored, he looked rather devastated, as if he knew something terrible was about to happen.

"Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means - looking sad when you think no one can see you."

"You can see me."

"I don't count."

(If she could have seen how sad those words made him look, if she had known at the time, perhaps she would have realised there was hope for her after all).

"What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do - anything you need, anything at all - you can have me. No, I just mean. I mean, if there's anything you need, it's fine."

"What could I need from you?"

He seemed genuinely puzzled, and she berated herself. She was an idiot to think she could offer him anything.

"Nothing. I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually."

That just slipped out, the demand for a thank you. She knew how rarely Sherlock spoke those words, but she just wanted some validation from him, some sort of indication that he was grateful for what she did.

"Thank you." More puzzlement. She didn't know why she bothered.

Her last few sentences were a blur in her mind. Anything to get out of what was turning into an incredibly awkward situation.

(She didn't hear his words, didn't realise that he might actually need her).

* * *

She was leaving for the evening, mind full of worry. Greg had called her to say that Sherlock and John had been arrested and then escaped custody. She could scarcely believe it - it was true that Sherlock wasn't the nicest of men, but she knew he wasn't capable of what the police thought he'd done. Nor was he the fake people seemed to have started believing he was. Even Greg, always a staunch and loyal friend, sounded slightly unsure. She forced herself not to rant down the phone at him, shout that Sherlock was unusual but not a mad kidnapper. She didn't though. She figured he had enough on his plate at the moment.

She was worried, though. She sent Sherlock a text, asking him to just let her know that he was ok. She didn't expect to be surprised (and scared) by his sudden appearance just as she was getting ready to lock up.

"You're wrong, you know," he told her, sounding more vulnerable than usual, "you do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you were right. I'm not okay."

She took a breath. They were words she was so pleased to hear, but she wished it wasn't under such bad circumstances.

"Tell me what's wrong," she said, thinking that (for once) he might actually do so.

"Molly, I think I'm going to die."

She wanted to panic, his words sending hundreds of terrible scenarios rushing around in her head. But panic wouldn't be good. She had to be calm.

"What do you need?

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?"

Of course she would, though it didn't matter. Sherlock was exactly what she thought, good and bad. Never a fraud, never a fake.

"What do you need?" she repeated.

His eyes met hers and she knew that what he said next would probably change her life.

"You."

She could never really deny him anything.

* * *

It was a complicated plan, made even more difficult by the fact that Sherlock could not directly talk to Mycroft, who was helping to mastermind (much to Sherlock's consternation - he insisted his brother's help wasn't necessary, but Molly knew it was).

Since Mycroft was almost certainly under surveillance, any contact between the brothers went through Anthea and disposable phones were used for every call. It made things safer, though, and that was vital.

She had to find a body similar to Sherlock's that wouldn't be missed to be buried in Sherlock's place, and she had to try and make that body look like Sherlock (though broken by the fall). Most importantly, she had to be the one to declare him dead.

Molly was happy not to know the whole plan. It was safer that way.

Unfortunately, it meant she pictured numerous dangerous scenarios that gradually pushed her stress levels higher and higher. She knew Sherlock would (should) survive, but she didn't know the condition he would be in when it was all over.

He could end up with cuts, bruises, broken bones or any manner of injury. For all she knew, he could end up paralysed.

Her head told her that Sherlock and Mycroft were clever, incredibly so. Surely they could have concocted a plan that would cause little physical harm to Sherlock.

Yet Moriarty had outwitted both of them at various points. Neither were infallible and they were possibly more vulnerable because they'd always been the smartest and they weren't used to facing an opponent on a more level playing field.

She didn't want to watch. Didn't want to see it happen. So she worked in the morgue, waiting for the inevitable shock and panic, for sometime to come and tell her what had happened.

She refused to witness Sherlock's fall.

* * *

He'd told that her she'd always counted and he'd always trusted her. It was something she would have loved to hear at any other time. But at that moment, when he was about to leap off the roof and she was going to try and catch him, she would have given up those words from him if only he didn't have to do it.

* * *

They sent Mike Stamford, who stammered out what had happened, clearly worried about her reaction.

She gave a good performance, channelling all her worry and trying to imagine what she'd feel if Sherlock really had jumped (it wasn't too difficult; she could still remember what she'd felt during that terrifying drug overdose incident).

Mike brought John in, shaking and rambling, and she pulled herself together enough to get him to Greg's house (Sherlock would soon be at her flat and 221B was out of the question, considering what had just happened).

She didn't stay with them, and they didn't ask her to. They knew her well enough to see her pain and the fact that she was near weeping. Normally, they might have made an attempt to comfort her, but after Sherlock's fall, they were barely in a position to comfort themselves.

She wanted to stay and try to help them, but she couldn't. She had so much to do and no time to spare.

Then there was Sherlock. She had to check on him, and knew if she put it off even an hour then she would work herself into a state.

He hadn't communicated with her, and neither had Mycroft or Anthea. It was entirely too dangerous.

She didn't know anything about the condition he was in. Didn't know if he was bleeding all over her floor, unconscious or broken.

She had to know.

She raced home.

When she found him there, pale, covered in blood (not his own) and shaky on his feet, but alive and relatively unharmed, she couldn't help but smile (even if it was entirely the wrong sentiment for the occasion).

It was that or burst into tears.

When Sherlock gave her the tiniest smile in return, her heart sang.

* * *

The success of the plan hinged on Molly completing Sherlock's autopsy. Mycroft had various doctors at his beck and call, but none of them had any particular loyalty to Sherlock and couldn't necessarily be trusted to keep the secret. It had to be Molly.

She pleaded and argued with Mike Stamford, even cried a bit. She insisted that doing the autopsy herself was the closure she needed. Mike stated that Molly was too close to Sherlock and refused to let her complete it.

It was exactly how things had been planned. Mycroft stepped in and said he wanted one of his own people to complete the autopsy. Mike wasn't happy, but had no choice in the matter.

Thus, Molly was able to sign the death certificate in secret, her credentials allowing her to certify the death, but the privacy and Mycroft's influence meaning Barts were not aware - her reputation would be safe when Sherlock returned.

She was allowed to tell only John, Mrs Hudson and Greg that she had been the pathologist examining Sherlock's body. It gave them all a sense of relief, knowing it was done by someone who cared about Sherlock. She ensured they would remain quiet about it by explaining that she had been refused the opportunity before Mycroft stepped in, secretly. They wouldn't mention it to anyone else.

It almost broke her heart when she had to tell John that he couldn't see Sherlock's body. She wished there was a way, but if there was anyone who might spot that the body was not truly Sherlock (besides those already in the know), it would be John.

She told him that he wouldn't want to see his best friend looking like he did (head smashed in, face barely recognisable, body mangled), but only Mycroft's edict that no one should view the body but him (for identification) and Molly (for post-mortem), prevented John from trying to see the corpse.

He shouted for ten minutes at Molly when she insisted he couldn't see it. Then he cried on and off for twenty minutes, before apologising to her and practically running away.

She felt terrible.

Greg barely said a word when he found out that he couldn't see Sherlock one more time. He said he'd seen enough unpleasant bodies not to be too affected (a lie, it was always more difficult with a friend). He accepted Mycroft's orders more easily than John, though, and he didn't shout (at her, at least. She heard him bellowing at Anderson and Donovan later on).

Mrs Hudson only cried. She didn't even ask to see the body. She told Molly she wanted to remember Sherlock as he had been, not as a corpse. Molly cried along with her.

Molly completed the autopsy alone, on a corpse that was (she was ever thankful to know) not actually Sherlock.

Mycroft identified the body, and in his nod to her she knew he was telling her that the body would pass muster as Sherlock. She breathed a sign of relief, especially when the corpse was released to Mycroft almost immediately after she was finished with it.

Nobody was any the wiser. Mycroft assured her that there would be no repercussions for her in the matter of falsifying records. Those records would, he promised, be redacted, and the information destroyed.

Mycroft could be creepy, especially with his government Big Brother tendencies, but she was definitely pleased to count him as an ally.

* * *

The immediate aftermath of Sherlock's 'suicide' was hard for all those who cared about him to bear.

The story was everywhere, and it seemed like every newspaper, news show and current affairs show, not to mention the general population, had something to say. Little of it was good.

Molly stopped watching the news.

Many people seemed to take Sherlock's actions as an admission of guilt. They thought he had thrown himself off the roof of St Barts because he had been found out to be a fraud. Molly wanted to shout out to everyone that it was a lie. That Sherlock's reasons had been to save his friends, that Moriarty was the fake, not Sherlock (never Sherlock).

She kept quiet, though. She expressed her belief in Sherlock's innocence to those who specifically asked (as would be expected of her), but never more than that. She couldn't draw too much attention to herself, especially not while Sherlock remained hidden away in her flat.

There were supporters, though. Small groups and online communities with slogans like _Moriarty was real_ and _We believe in Sherlock Holmes_. She was grateful to see some faith in Sherlock. It was a mark of how far he'd come and the seriousness of what had happened that Sherlock kept his mocking of these groups (which sprang up almost immediately following his supposed death) to a minimum, sometimes even almost-smiling at their words of support.

She even managed to get John to look a little less defeated and broken by showing him such messages of support.

She hated it, though, walking down the streets or shopping, only to hear someone calling Sherlock a fraud and insulting him.

She refrained from hitting them all. It was a great lesson in self-restraint.

Sherlock stayed at her flat for three days after the fall. She had time off, compassionate leave. Everyone thought she was just wallowing in grief (which admittedly would have been the case if Sherlock had truly died). In reality, it was a hectic and stressful time.

Sherlock needed an image makeover. His face was well-known and his features distinct, but he was also excellent a blending in, when he wanted to. She had a few packets of hair-dye left over from when she'd experimented with her hair colour, and so Sherlock soon became a sandy blonde. The spray tan she used very occasionally in the summer darkened his pale skin slightly. They hit a snag with clothing. They knew Molly wouldn't be watched like John, Mrs Hudson, Greg and Mycroft would be, but they were also aware she might be subject to some surveillance and couldn't be seen buying men's clothes.

Thankfully, Mycroft managed to sort clothing, money and a number of fake aliases (complete with birth certificates, passports and credit cards). She didn't know quite how he had managed it, but it had involved Anthea, numerous members of the homeless network, and strangers dropping random parcels into her bags of perfectly ordinary shopping. It was all very covert and not at all what she was used to.

The things she did for Sherlock Holmes, she thought as she put an extra packet of biscuits into her shopping basket. No one would think it strange that she had extra biscuits, not considering the grief she was supposed to be experiencing. It was ridiculous, second-guessing every purchase she made as she wondered whether or not the hypothetical surveillance team watching her would think it was unusual. Sherlock, while he didn't eat much on cases, still needed food, especially for when he travelled, so she had the task of sneaking an extra packet or two into her shopping.

They had no idea if anyone was watching her. Moriarty had not thought her important, but they weren't sure how cautious he and his men might have been. She couldn't do anything suspicious or the whole plan could be ruined, and she refused to be responsible for putting Sherlock in more danger.

* * *

Having Sherlock staying with her for three days was both better and worse than she had imagined.

He wasn't too terrible behaviour-wise. He didn't shoot at her walls or leave disgusting (if fascinating) experiments in her kitchen. Still, that may have been because he lacked the equipment for such endeavours. He wasn't as rude as usual and made some attempt at politeness. He was quieter, as well, too busy with dealing with the mess in his own head left by the games with Moriarty to bother her too much.

The bad things came mostly from proximity. Her feelings for him could, with effort, be ignored or pushed away much of the time. Having him living with her, however, challenged all her self-control.

Especially since he insisted on sleeping in her bed.

He often skipped sleep when he was on cases, but he didn't have one and was both physically and mentally exhausted by recent events. He had flat out refused to sleep on her sofa (admittedly not too comfortable) and she'd had to resign herself to sharing her bed (a king sized indulgence) with him. It did not help her feelings for him when he was right next to her with little clothing on.

She dealt with it, and also (though it was terrible to gain enjoyment from something that came from such a mess) enjoyed having him close, even if that was all it would ever be.

Sherlock asked her to tell him the reactions of John, Greg and Mrs Hudson. She didn't want to, of course. He was often quite above emotion, but he did feel and she knew it would hurt him to know the pain his friends were in.

She couldn't lie to him, though. Had never been able to. She told the truth. She cried a lot. He looked uncomfortable, but made an attempt to pat her on the back and offer tea. She felt bad, since she was supposed to comfort him.

He tried. She appreciated that, especially when he was obviously distressed about the reactions to his 'death'. She could read that from him - she was better at reading him than he thought.

On the morning of his fourth day at Molly's flat, Sherlock made breakfast for the two of them. He was a surprisingly good cook, despite his tendency to avoid it whenever possible.

She smiled and enjoyed the food and Sherlock's good mood (a great improvement on the past few days, though she couldn't blame him considering the circumstances). He participated properly in the conversation, made a joke or two and was generally agreeable.

Of course, he didn't completely change, so the conversation was focused on interesting cases and autopsies, but she didn't mind that and it was like old times, back in university before the drugs got too bad.

She was suspicious, as she knew she should be. Especially when, as she left for work, he leant down and kissed her cheek, as he had done at the Christmas party.

"Goodbye Molly Hooper," he said softly, before disappearing into the kitchen.

It could have just been a more sentimental goodbye, but she knew Sherlock rarely did sentiment. He wasn't just saying a normal goodbye - it was different.

She was sad, but not surprised, when she arrived home that evening to find no trace of Sherlock or evidence of his presence.

She just prayed, every night, to a God she wasn't sure existed, that Sherlock would be safe.

* * *

She went to the funeral. It was tiny. Sherlock was quite a divisive topic and so no details of the funeral were given and the only ones who attended the short service were Molly, John, Greg, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft and Anthea.

The absence of Sherlock's parents was noticed, but Mycroft simply stated that they were too distraught to attend. The truth was that they had been told the truth of his survival and did not want to risk slipping up in front of Sherlock's closest friends when it could be so dangerous.

The funeral was tense and sad and stressful.

John managed fifteen minutes before he punched Mycroft in the face and stormed off.

Molly didn't really blame him. She was angry with Mycroft too, but she knew he hadn't ever meant for his brother to be in so much danger. He wasn't a terrible person and it hadn't been just him who underestimated Moriarty - Sherlock had too.

Besides, it always seemed to be the case that the smarter the person, the bigger the mistakes they tended to make were.

John, though, would probably never quite forgive Mycroft completely.

She hoped he would forgive her.

* * *

Perhaps it was punishment for lying to her friends. She had to act as if she was grieving, but found herself doing so for real (even knowing Sherlock was alive) because she responded to the sorrow of her friends with sorrow of her own. Then there was the guilt.

She only hoped that, when Sherlock was able to return, they would all forgive her for the deception and understand why she'd had no other choice.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes leapt off the roof of St Barts.

Molly Hooper caught him, saving his life for the second time.

She didn't know yet, but saving Sherlock would become a habit. Considering what was waiting in the future, he would definitely need the help.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. It is very much appreciated.**

**No beta, sorry for any mistakes.**


	4. Faith Was Strong But You Needed Proof

**Chapter 4: Your Faith Was Strong But You Needed Proof**

**John, Greg and Mrs Hudson all believed in Sherlock Holmes. They all knew he wasn't a fake. But however strong that faith was, they were all convinced he was dead. Molly knew they'd need proof - she just hoped they'd get it soon. Spoilers for Series 1 & 2. Set between Series 2 & 3.**

* * *

Occasionally, she received postcards from him. He never wrote anything and only signed them with the name Helena Rose. It was that which tipped her off in regards to the sender - Helena Rose Powell had been the victim in the first case she and Sherlock had worked together on. Aside from that, she'd read his handwriting for years, and not even _his_ attempts could disguise it.

That was the only communication, sporadic and lacking any real information, that she got from him.

At least she knew he was alive.

* * *

When everything started to come out at Scotland Yard - all the times Sherlock had consulted unofficially, all the scenes he'd been allowed access to and the evidence he had removed and examined - the higher-ups were not impressed.

Sherlock's arrangement with Greg Lestrade had been semi-formal at best, and while some were aware, they overlooked it as Sherlock kept solving cases. But with the scandal of the incident involving the ambassador's children and Sherlock's 'suicide', they were no longer willing to overlook anything.

There was an enquiry, of course. Both Anderson and Donovan testified, and Molly gave them some credit for remaining supportive of their boss and showing some sadness and regret at Sherlock's 'death'. Neither of them had ever really believed he was a proper fake, only that he was dangerous and had been involved in the kidnapping of the ambassador's children. Now, they even seemed to be questioning the second assumption, although Donovan, at least, would always see the potential for danger in Sherlock.

(Then again, Molly thought you would have to be a fool to think Sherlock was harmless in any way).

Anderson and Donovan had spent too much time around Sherlock, had been on the receiving end of too many insulting deductions containing details Sherlock couldn't have just researched. They knew his deductions were real. They just didn't think it was right or safe for him to have so much free reign in regards to Scotland Yard's cases.

And Molly could scarcely blame them for disliking Sherlock. They were both cleverer than the consulting detective would admit (and Sally Donovan was really very intelligent), but no one ever really measured up to Sherlock (except perhaps Mycroft, and Molly would never tell Sherlock that to his face).

She didn't like that they called Sherlock a freak, but she also knew he called them names just as cruel, belittling observations that were often correct or sensible.

Sherlock didn't play nice with people, and in this case it had come back to bite him. Perhaps they might have given him the benefit of the doubt if he hadn't been so cruel and dismissive.

Once everything was over, when (if) Sherlock returned home to London, Molly thought she really needed to have a conversation with him about alienating potential allies.

Greg got off with one year probation, keeping his rank as Detective Inspector, but staying under supervision to prove he kept to the rules.

There had been talk of demotion, but he was too good a detective (and she suspected Mycroft had interfered a little). Still, probation was annoying enough to Greg, who hated having someone watching over his shoulder.

"It's like they're completing forgetting all the bloody cases we solved because of Sherlock," he had griped to her, one evening a few months after Sherlock's fall, "sure, he could be a bastard, but he was generally a bastard who was right."

Molly had nodded in all the right places, but had spoken little. That night Greg hadn't needed someone to talk with, but a person he could vent to. He didn't deserve what was getting thrown at him, because few people could really stop Sherlock, and he had helped Scotland Yard with a lot of cases.

She knew how much his job meant to Greg, especially since his personal life consisted of a few friends always involved in investigations and crimes and a wife he hadn't loved for years. It hurt her to see her friend so despondent about the lack of trust in him he now experienced at work. She only hoped Scotland Yard would begin to trust him again soon, especially considering how well he was doing on his cases, determined to put away as many criminals as possible.

Greg's faith in Sherlock had been shaken by Moriarty's tricks, but quickly restored. He believed in Sherlock Holmes. Now she, and the rest of his friends, had to make Greg believe in himself again.

* * *

Molly visited Mrs Hudson at least once a week, and very often more. She worried about her, without Sherlock and John to watch out for her. The landlady was tough, but she certainly wasn't invincible or immune to pain (physical or emotional).

John didn't visit, the hurt still too raw, and so Mrs Hudson got lonely. Molly took her out shopping, or to lunch, or just stayed at Baker Street. She thought it made a difference, although Mrs Hudson still grieved terribly.

Molly made sure Greg visited occasionally as well, checking the locks and security were good and easing Molly's worries a little. She knew Mycroft most likely took care of security (and she was thankful for the surveillance she knew he still had on the place), but she felt better having Greg check.

She liked visiting Baker Street. Despite the pain she felt, being in Sherlock's old home when he was supposedly dead, it was comforting to be reminded of him, and it helped her remember that he was still alive.

She also enjoyed it because it was the one place no one ever doubted Sherlock. Mrs Hudson, while not blind to the consulting detective's faults, adored Sherlock, just as he had cared for her, even if he showed it less.

Sometimes she and Mrs Hudson would end up crying over their memories of Sherlock, but Molly always knew there would never be any suggestion that Sherlock was a fake in 221 and, considering the number of people she heard talking negatively about Sherlock every day, that was something she very much needed.

Mrs Hudson never lost faith in Sherlock, never once doubted that he was genuine in his deductive abilities. She wouldn't hear anything else from anybody, and Molly admired her immensely for that.

But Mrs Hudson was so devastated by Sherlock's apparent death, so lonely now Sherlock was no longer around and John was avoiding almost everyone. She needed Sherlock back, needed someone to both mother and scold. Molly hoped she wouldn't have to wait long.

* * *

John met Molly's friend Mary Morstan three months after Sherlock's 'suicide'.

Molly hadn't planned it. It had been a complete coincidence that they'd run into John on one of their girly days out. In hindsight, though, Molly thought perhaps she should have thought about introducing them.

Mary was just the sort of woman John needed in his life, as a friend or more. She was more removed from the Sherlock situation than the rest of John's close friends, which meant interactions weren't tainted with the memories of his lost best friend. Additionally, Mary was an excellent listener, kind, intelligent and funny.

Mary made John smile five minutes into their meeting. Molly thought she was a miracle worker.

John started dating Mary six months after Sherlock's 'death'. Molly was delighted for both of them, but even Mary couldn't persuade John to stop avoiding his friends.

After those first few weeks, when they all clung to each other in their grief, John had pulled away. She guessed that they reminded him of Sherlock, of what John had lost. It still hurt, though.

He saw Mrs Hudson only when he retrieved his belongings to move into a new flat. Mycroft retained 221B, which meant Sherlock's things went mercifully untouched (she didn't want to think about the tantrum he'd throw if he returned to find everything packed away or gone). John left as soon as he could find a place - she didn't blame him, since she knew Sherlock wasn't dead, but still had trouble entering 221B without breaking down a bit.

John saw Molly at the hospital occasionally, their paths crossing when he met up with Mary. It was usually awkward, and Molly always wished she could tell John that his best friend still lived. She kept quiet, though. Too much depended on her silence.

Still, at least she saw him occasionally.

Unlike Greg. John hadn't punched him, as he had Mycroft, but he certainly gave the Detective Inspector the cold shoulder for a few months, angry that he had been swayed (even if only for a moment) into doubting Sherlock.

So she knew little about how John was doing. He never looked particularly well when she saw him at St Barts, but she wasn't sure his behaviour was typical then, in a place full of memories of cases with Sherlock.

She didn't like to ask Mary. It seemed like a betrayal, like talking behind John's back.

Her mind told her she'd done worse already. She'd hidden Sherlock's survival from his best friend.

But John couldn't know Sherlock survived. It was imperative that he remained convinced of his death.

Still, she felt guilty and refused to question Mary in regards to John. Thankfully, her friend seemed to realise how worried she was and occasionally offered hints, betraying no confidences but letting her know about John.

John improved, slowly (very slowly, he'd probably never be quite the same again), but surely. He rebuilt his life as much as possible, with an empty space where Sherlock had been (but a space nonetheless; John was so very loyal) and a new spot for Mary.

John was the one she worried most about when it came to Sherlock's hopeful return.

He had grieved so much, but once he stopped hoping for Sherlock to be alive, he became quite determined that he was dead.

She had no idea how he would react to the news that Sherlock lived. He was patient (he had to be, to put up with Sherlock), but he was certainly capable of anger and Molly knew there would be a lot directed at Sherlock (though she doubted Sherlock really realised that).

She was also worried he might hate her for helping to hide it, for refusing to give him any hope.

(It was for his own good, though, for his safety, and for Greg and Mrs Hudson's).

John needed Sherlock, though, just as Sherlock needed John. When Molly wished for Sherlock's return, it was for John most of all. She would take all the anger he could throw at her, if it meant John could finally have his best friend back.

She only hoped that finding out the truth wouldn't destroy John and Sherlock's friendship.

* * *

Molly went through the motions for the most part. She still had interesting corpses turn up in the morgue, but the excitement had been lost when Sherlock went away.

She could hear his voice in her head sometimes, berating idiotic suggestions from those around her and offering methods and thoughts on her work. She'd become better at her job, thanks to him, and she truly started to realise it once he'd gone and she relied entirely on her own judgement, without any of his little hints.

Hearing voices was probably not a good sign, but she was lonely. The morgue was generally quiet and cold, Mary was occupied largely with John (who was MIA most of the time, in regards to her).

She missed Sherlock, so very much.

The morgue is even more like a tomb than it had been before Sherlock's leap from the roof. Before, people used to come down and talk to her occasionally. Not many, because even doctors seemed to have an aversion to the morgue, but enough to give her some company occasionally.

Almost no one appears now unless they absolutely have to. Mary is about the only exception. They'd all thought she was strange before, interested in death and helping the rude detective who always deduced them. Now there's even more for them to gossip about. The woman who was in love with the fraud detective.

In the end, she finds she's glad they're not down there. It was bad enough to be gawked at when she got lunch, and she didn't need it when she was trying to work.

Besides, who needed friends?

(Stupid question. She'd like friends. She missed her friends. She missed Sherlock).

Sometimes she wished she had as much derision for the general human population as Sherlock and Mycroft seemed to. It would make things much easier.

* * *

When Anderson started spouting theories about Sherlock surviving, Molly panicked.

Granted, some (most) of his suggestions were quite ridiculous, including incredible stunts, weird ideas and (in one case) Derren Brown.

Still, there were a couple of theories that were very realistic, and she wouldn't be surprised if they bore some resemblance to either Sherlock's method for surviving, or some of his back-up ideas.

One of Anderson's favourites, which included a movie star kiss for her with Sherlock, she managed to keep from John, Greg and Mrs Hudson. It had no real truth in it (even if she wouldn't have minded such a kiss from Sherlock), but she worried it might plant the idea in their minds that Molly could have hidden something, or helped Sherlock to survive.

Mycroft, she knew, had a dozen or more plans in place for various scenarios in which Anderson's ramblings got too much attention, or strayed too close to the truth and endangered Sherlock.

She thought he got entirely too much enjoyment from the idea.

Thankfully, John, Mrs Hudson and Greg were quite convinced of Sherlock's death. John witnessing his leap from St Barts and their faith in Molly's autopsy (guilt, she always felt guilty now) saw to that.

Even Greg, who heard most of Anderson's theories, though the man was just feeling guilty. He was sure it was Anderson's way of trying to atone to Sherlock, just as Sally Donovan chose to throw herself into her work even further to escape the stirrings of guilt.

Still, if Anderson (he had brains, but there were plenty of cleverer people around) could formulate such theories, what was to say that no one else could.

Molly's sporadic nightmares (Sherlock jumping and not slowing, just hitting the ground, truly dead, no way to save him) grew more frequent and included the dead bodies of John, Greg and Mrs Hudson, killed when Moriarty's men realised Sherlock wasn't actually dead.

Mycroft came to see her, Anthea tapping away on her Blackberry as usual. He'd obviously been monitoring her and she wasn't surprised, but he had apparently picked up on her worry (obviously, the surveillance on her was even more invasive than she'd realised - she would have argued about it with him, if she'd thought it would make a difference).

Still, it was almost an honour that he'd deigned to visit her himself (or rather, politely kidnap her so they could talk in private). She was just annoyed by it.

She forgave him when he informed her, straightforwardly and with none of the usual Holmes insults, that there was no evidence to be found of Sherlock's survival except in the minds of those that had helped, all of whom were loyal to Sherlock or (in Anthea's case) to Mycroft.

He was strangely reassuring. She still worried, but she also had some idea of Mycroft's impressive power and thought she could, in this case at least, trust him not to mess up Sherlock's plans.

The nightmares lessened.

She laughed at the thought of Sherlock's expression if she told him his brother had helped stop her nightmares.

* * *

John, Greg and Mrs Hudson all had faith in Sherlock's talents. They knew he was no fraud.

But they were also sure he was dead, and Molly knew it would not be easy for them when they discovered the truth.

And things were changing. None of them forgot Sherlock, but as the length of his absence approached two years, they had all begun to move on.

John and Mary's relationship grew stronger, and Molly saw the love in their eyes, an knew an engagement was almost certain in the near future.

Greg finally split properly with his wife and filed for divorce, Sherlock in death (or so the world thought) finally managing what he never could when he was alive and pushing the Detective Inspector to leave the woman who had made him miserable for years. He'd thrown himself into his work like Donovan, and through that found that even without Sherlock's help, he and Donovan made an impressive team.

Mrs Hudson stopped crying so much, started to laugh at stories about Sherlock and struck up a friendship with a Mr Peter Jameson down the street which soon led to a promising romance.

Then there was Molly herself. She met Tom.

He was ordinary, nice, cheerful, so very different from Sherlock (even if his physical appearance, so close to the Consulting Detective's, was what first caught her eye).

Her friends knew she was dating, but she never let them know how serious it was.

It was telling, she thought, that they hadn't yet met Tom (she knew what they'd say, though, about his resemblance to Sherlock).

They didn't even know when she got engaged, almost two years to the day since Sherlock's 'death'. She never mentioned it, took the ring off whenever she saw John, Greg, Mrs Hudson or Mary.

It was terrible, an obvious sign that she didn't really want to marry Tom.

He was nice, but nice would never be enough for her after Sherlock, however much she cared about Tom.

She refused to end it. She was stubbornly blind, half-heartedly engaged to Tom while she truly held out for Sherlock's return.

It was cruel to Tom.

She still didn't end it.

The two year mark passed and Sherlock was still away. Molly knew better than to ask Mycroft for information, and so she stayed in the dark.

She needed Sherlock to return. So did the others, John especially.

The longer it took, the harder it would be for Sherlock to find his place with his friends once again. There always be one there, of course, but it was already so altered.

If he didn't hurry, Sherlock would miss John's wedding (and her own, though she knew deep down it would never take place, not to Tom at least). He'd miss the boat on threatening Mr Jameson about being kind to Mrs Hudson, and on congratulating Greg on finally leaving his toxic marriage.

Sherlock didn't deal well with change.

He'd have a few surprises on his return, likely, in his opinion, to be rather unpleasant ones.

She hoped daily for his return. For herself, John, Greg, Mrs Hudson and all of the people who needed him, even for Mycroft (who loved his brother, no matter what he said).

Their faith in Sherlock was strong, but they needed the real thing.

Molly only wished he would come soon.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. It is much appreciated.**

**No beta, sorry for any mistakes.**


	5. I Did My Best, It Wasn't Much

**Chapter 5: I Did My Best, It Wasn****'****t Much**

**Sherlock returns, expecting everything to be as it was, only to be shocked by the realisation that it won't be. Molly isn't John (and she realises Sherlock doesn't want her to be), but she does her best to help. Spoilers up until 3x01, The Empty Hearse**

**So sorry this took me so long. I've been so busy and got distracted. I don't know how long it will be until the next part, but I'll try not to make it too long.**

* * *

Sherlock's exoneration was the result of two years of hard work by Mycroft and his team. Moriarty had been far from stupid and had covered most of his tracks extremely well.

Fortunately for Mycroft, there were loose ends and events that didn't add up. While hard to spot for many, they were child's play for the formidable mind of Mycroft Holmes, once he noticed them.

It took time. Public opinion and negative media coverage were powerful, even in the face of the hard evidence Mycroft produced of Sherlock's innocence and the truth of Moriarty.

Mycroft, while he despised legwork, was no slouch when it came to ensuring the exoneration of his younger brother (even if he did delegate most aspects of the plan that necessitated travel and remain largely the brains of the operation).

When the news broke, declaring Sherlock innocent, Molly felt immense relief. She had known the truth, and she knew Sherlock didn't care what people thought of him as long as he could do the work he loved, but she had been angry on his behalf about what the public had said about him.

Greg and Mrs Hudson found it all to be bittersweet, because to them it came too late to save Sherlock. Molly longed to tell them the truth, but she had waited two years and knew she could wait a bit longer in order to keep them safe.

John didn't contact her. It didn't surprise her (but it upset her). Mary, however, let her know that John was glad, though he was still immensely angry at the press for taking so long to see the truth. Like Greg and Mrs Hudson, he felt it had come too late.

Molly didn't know how much longer Sherlock would be away. He might have been exonerated, but he still needed to finish his work of unravelling Moriarty's vast empire.

So she waited and worried, though her heart was lighter than it had been since Sherlock's fall.

* * *

She had no idea that Sherlock would be returning.

Mycroft had been, as usual, tight-lipped, and the last postcard she had received from Sherlock had been almost two months previously, the image of the Eiffel Tower proclaiming he was (or had been) in Paris.

She wasn't sure where he'd gone from there, though, and his message had been no different than usual, in no way suggesting he was close to finishing his dismantling of Moriarty's empire.

Then, suddenly, he was back, standing behind her as she put her things away in her locker at the end of the day.

She jumped in shock.

Of course she did. She was aware that he was alive, but seeing him, with no warning beforehand, after two years, was a surprise.

She smiled, though, because he was finally back, finally something more than a ghost.

Her smile dimmed when she saw the state of his face.

"John?" she guessed, and when he nodded, she sighed - it seemed like anger had overruled relief for John, at leas for the moment.

She got him out the back door quickly. Since he was back and had been exonerated, it was safe for him in public, but she didn't want to deal with all of the drama someone noticing him would bring while she was still reeling over the fact that he was actually there, in front of her.

He shoved on the hat he'd obviously been using as part of a disguise and they got the tube to her flat. It was ridiculous, how easily he could disguise himself from the general public, especially considering his features weren't exactly common. She was glad of it, though, when it made it easy for them to get to her home in peace.

She kept a medical kit, well stocked. It was mostly for Sherlock's sake. She'd started in university, patching him up the best she could when he injured himself on cases or while he was high, and she'd never stopped. It hadn't been much use in the past few years - he'd had John and then he'd been away (dead to the world), but now she was glad she had it.

There were no serious injuries, but she'd known that from the start. Even angry, there was no way John would have truly hurt Sherlock.

He told her what had happened as she stitched him up, laughing at parts, much to his consternation. It was funny, but a bit sad. Sherlock should have realised things would have changed, but he could be blind to things like that and at least he'd got the message now.

She was pleased that Sherlock approved of Mary, and that she seemed to like him in return. They were the two people who most loved John Watson, and they'd need to get along.

She had a sneaking feeling that John might even regret introducing them, as they were quite likely to get into some trouble together, or at least band together to tease John.

She dealt with Sherlock's injuries quickly and efficiently. Neither of them talked much, but they didn't mind. They weren't quite sure what to say to each other yet, not ready to have a proper talk. Instead, Molly found herself simply enjoying his company, letting herself continually verify that he was actually back, truly returned from his fight against Moriarty's criminal empire.

For the moment, his silent company was enough.

Once Sherlock had left her flat, patched up and determined to have John forgive him, Molly waited.

She received phone calls soon enough, from Greg and Mrs Hudson, both delighted at Sherlock's return.

Greg surprised her a bit - considering what association with Sherlock had cost him, she had expected more anger, but he just seemed pleased, and grateful to Molly for helping when he couldn't.

Mrs Hudson sobbed (a lot), but Molly could tell, even through the phone, that he tears were happy ones. She invited Molly round as soon as she was free to talk over the news.

Mycroft, obviously busy manoeuvring the perfect way for his brother to return, an exonerated her, sent Anthea to Molly.

Anthea, quiet as usual, simply informed Molly that no one but John, Greg, Mrs Hudson and Mary could know that she had helped Sherlock fake his death. Molly didn't mind that. There was no one else she'd tell.

John didn't call.

Mary did, expressing her approval of Sherlock, but she remained silent on the issue of John.

He must be angry with her. She had expected it, even thought she probably deserved it.

It still hurt.

* * *

When Sherlock text, asking her to come and see him at Baker Street (though he hadn't exactly phrased it as a question), she was nervous.

She rarely visited 221B; outside of going to see Mrs Hudson she had been there only once (the Christmas party, but she didn't really like to think about that). Sherlock had only moved to Baker Street just before he met John, and by then she wasn't ever at his residence helping with experiments and cases as she had once done.

Rehab had been good for him, she liked to remind herself, it had saved his life - but she still resented that he had come back and acted like she was a near-stranger.

"_You wanted to see me."_

"_Yes. Molly."_

"_Yes."_

"_Would you... would you like to solve crimes-"_

"_Have dinner?"_

"_Ooh."_

She tried to forget her little slip-up, just grateful that Sherlock hadn't torn her apart about her obvious love for him. Instead, he stayed awkwardly silent for a few minutes before declaring his plans for the day.

She followed his lead and pretended it hadn't happened, determined to enjoy her time with Sherlock despite her earlier hiccup.

The whole day was like a dream.

It was Sherlock no longer ignoring her, but asking for her help and opinions, sharing his work with her outside of the confines of St Barts. It was like it had been before Sherlock went to rehab.

She loved it.

But the ring on her finger weighed heavily on her mind the whole day. She knew she was in love with Sherlock - she had no illusions that she could play it off as a stupid crush that would fade. It wouldn't.

The day felt too much like the sort of date Sherlock would come up with, if he were ever inclined to do so (not that it was a date, she was well aware they were just cases for Sherlock).

Still, some of his actions and words had been distinctly complementary.

"_Should I be making notes?"_

"_If it makes you feel better."_

"_It's just that that's what John says he does, so if I'm being John …"_

"_You're not being John - you're being yourself."_

He'd explained things to her, let her deduce things about the crime scene.

It shocked her when he actually followed her unspoken order to apologise when he had laughed at the idea that their train-obsessed client might have a girlfriend. Then, during the conversation, he'd been friendly with her, sharing eye rolls over the client's love of trains.

It had been brilliant.

He'd also called her John again. She forgave him that, though, because he really could be that oblivious sometimes and he obviously missed his best friend.

It really was like they'd gone back in time to when Sherlock didn't stomp all over her feelings (much).

They had a rapport, and it was much less awkward than most of their interactions in the past few years.

Her mind whispered that she'd never had so much fun with Tom. He liked ordinary pastimes, such as going to the pub or the cinema. Molly had never had the heart to tell him she found all that quite boring if she had to do it more than occasionally. Her idea of fun was more in line with Sherlock's.

She was a terrible fiancée.

* * *

As they headed downstairs, away from the client's apartment, Molly saw as Sherlock entered his mind palace.

She knew better than to interrupt him, and instead waited until his eyes focused on her once more, "so I'm going to need maps – lots of maps, older maps, all the maps," he told her, speaking rapidly and starting down the stairs once more.

"Right," she replied as he passed her, mentally reviewing where she could get maps rather than thinking about the sort of thing she probably ought to have been instead, like Tom.

She was startled suddenly by a question from Sherlock, "fancy some chips?"

She could only stutter out a one-word answer, scarcely able to believe what he had just asked. He didn't usually eat on cases and the last time he'd invited her to eat with him had been just before he'd faked his death and only some packets of crisps (plus, she knew it had just been a polite front to get her to help him).

" I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions."

" Did you get him off a murder charge?" she asked, sceptical about someone that would like Sherlock enough to give him extra food.

"No - I helped him put up some shelves."

She giggled, because the image was incredibly funny, and her heart leapt when he smiled briefly at her, as if he enjoyed her amusement.

She paused then. Because it was all going so well. Helping with a case, having chips. She had to know what was actually going on, whether it was just another ruse or a genuine attempt at friendship (she refused to consider him being interested in anything further).

"Sherlock?"

" Hmm?" he murmured, only half paying attention.

" What was today about?"

He paused, "saying thank you," he told her, with no trace of sarcasm or mocking.

"For what?"

"Everything you did for me."

"It's okay. It was my pleasure."

And it was. She was pleased to hear his thanks, but she knew him well enough that she had never expected it. Besides, it was what a friend should do, and she did see him as a friend.

"No, I mean it," he said earnestly, and she realised that he wanted her to understand that he was truly grateful.

It took her breath away. Apologies were hard enough from Sherlock, but he had never given her such a genuine one. So of course, she defaulted to stutters.

"I don't mean 'pleasure'. I mean, I didn't mind. I wanted to."

He stepped closer to her and she felt her heart race increase as his eyes met her. His words were intense, but still soft.

"Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most. You made it all possible."

She couldn't breathe for a second, so shocked by the words he had spoken. She knew (hoped) she meant something to him, that there were some vestiges of their old friendship left even when he ignored and belittled her. But an thank you, and then for him to tell her how much she mattered to him, it was almost too much.

He took a breath, "but you can't do this again, can you?"

She smiled slightly to try and cover the tears building and the lump in her throat, "I had a lovely day. I'd love to - I just ... um …"

She looked down, couldn't properly face him knowing that she was agreeing to the lie, letting him think she loved Tom (and strangely enough, she really did think he believed it, despite his usual skill with determining when she was lying to him).

He looked to her hand, to the ring on her finger, "oh, congratulations, by the way."

(There was a little bit of heartbreak in his eyes. Molly didn't see it).

She babbled at him, of course, talking about Tom and how normal he was (as if normal was something she really wanted).

She waited for him to catch her in the lie, but he never did. Instead he just looked at her, sad and smiling at the same time.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths."

He stepped closer to her, smiling in a way he rarely did (so sincerely) and then he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

She remembered when he kissed her in a similar manner at the Christmas party, but this was different. This was more. Yet it felt almost like a goodbye, like he was letting her go (he'd always had her, but she'd never thought she had him).

She closed her eyes and heard the door open, his footsteps getting quieter. She felt so tired and knew the day had overwhelmed her.

She was sad too, because his actions had shown her that maybe he did feel something for her. Maybe there was a chance for them.

But there was Tom, and she didn't quite trust her judgement of Sherlock's actions.

He was merely being friendly, she told herself, he was grateful and that was it.

(The truth was she was terrified that she might be right, that there could be a future for herself and Sherlock. She couldn't bring herself to take a chance, knowing the humiliation she faced if she was wrong).

She had to be more sure.

(It didn't occur to her that Sherlock might have been just as scared as she was of whatever was between them, if not more so).

* * *

The day after John had nearly been burnt alive, Molly went over to his new flat for the first time to visit.

She was nervous, and nearly turned back a dozen times. John had dealt with a whirlwind of emotion, action and danger the past few days and she wasn't sure she should cause any more stress by showing up.

Still, she desperately wanted to be sure he was ok - Sherlock and Mary had both told her that he was shaken, but unharmed, yet she felt the need to see for herself.

There was also the fact that she wanted to apologise in person for hiding Sherlock's survival from him. John was a good friend, and she knew her actions, however right for the situation, had hurt him.

She would make it right. She was determined.

She knocked on his door before she had the chance to change her mind again, and waited nervously for John to answer.

He was surprised to see her, she could tell, but he didn't appear particularly angry and she took that as a good sign.

Mary appeared at his shoulder almost immediately, and Molly deflated. She opened her mouth to say she'd come back, that she didn't want to disturb them, but Mary held up a hand first.

"I'm going out for a bit," she told John, "I think you two need to have a conversation and you don't need me hovering.

She grabbed her coat and bag, out of the door and down the hall before either Molly or John could say a word.

John simply held the door open and invited her in. She took in his flat as she entered.

It was clean (a far cry from the danger zone 221B had been when he and Sherlock lived there), sparse (an avoidance of memories, probably relating to Sherlock) and neutral (he wasn't properly settled there yet) - she had definitely picked up some small talent for deduction from Sherlock.

"Tea?" asked John as he gestured to the sofa, but she shook her head and sat down, biting her lip (a nervous habit she thought she'd managed to kick) and wondering exactly what to say.

She settled for a soft "I'm sorry," as John sat down opposite her.

Before he could give a reply, she spoke some more, determined to at least get something out before he possibly kicked her out.

"It was just so sudden and he needed my help … he would have told you, I'm sure of it, but it would have put you in so much danger … I wanted to tell you, John, I really did, but it was your life at stake, and the lives of so many others … I know you're probably angry, and I deserve it, but I just wanted to apologise and I'm just so sorry."

She paused for a breath, before continuing, "I just want you to try and forgive Sherlock. He needs you so much. I tried to help him, but it wasn't the same and I know he kept wishing you were there. You're busy, I'm sure, but he doesn't deal with change well and I don't think he expected to come back to such a different dynamic. It's confusing him but he will accept it better if he has his best friend back."

She lapsed into silence then, having got out everything she wished to say. She only hoped that John would accept it, or at least try to understand her actions and the reason for her secrecy.

They were silent for a few minutes, Molly trying not to fidget while John was clearly deep in thought. When he spoke, she jumped slightly in surprise.

"I'm not angry with you," he told her, "I was, I'll admit, for a while, but I know you just did what you had to. It's just, no one said a thing to me."  
He paused a moment before slight anger showed in his expression, "I thought he was dead, I bloody mourned for him."  
"I know," Molly replied quietly, "and he did wish it could be different, but he's not infallible John, despite what he sometimes believes. He makes mistakes and sometimes he can't tie everything up neatly. What happened was better than the alternative."

He nodded in acknowledgement of her words and she continued, "I know he didn't reveal his survival to you in quite the right way," she paused, thinking over the absolutely disastrous evening Mary had described to her - Sherlock really should have known better - "but we both know how he is."

John snorted, a bit of laughter that lightened Molly's heart, "bloody idiot he is at times," he said, "I have missed him," he admitted more softly.

He turned to face her properly, "I can forgive you Molly, even if there really isn't much to forgive. I know how much it must have hurt you to lie to us, and I'm grateful to you for helping Sherlock."  
She beamed at him, "thank you John, I really am sorry."  
She paused, "what about Sherlock?"

"We'll see about Sherlock. After all, he's annoyed and angered me plenty before. Not like this, but I know how his mind works. We'll see."

"Now," he said, "why don't you tell me about everything I've missed."

They weren't back to normal. John needed time, and Molly knew that. But he was talking to her, he didn't blame her and she was fairly sure he'd be back working with Sherlock soon enough.

Things were getting back to normal, at least a little.

* * *

She decided to bring Tom to the gathering at Baker Street. It was a big step for her to introduce him to her friends, but she knew he'd get suspicious if she held off any more - it was already strange to him that she'd met his family and friends, while he had only met her cat, Toby (and neither he nor Toby had been thrilled with the each other), since she was an orphan not particularly close to the rest of her family and all her friends were linked to Sherlock.

It made it real, though, for Tom to meet her friends. Her mind rebelled at the step, convinced as she was that she could never actually go through with it and marry Tom.

Sherlock haunted her mind, filling every corner and always in her thoughts.

She wanted some happiness, didn't want to spend the rest of her life pining after Sherlock. Her life was enjoyable - she had a job and friends she loved, after all - but she wanted something more.

Her mind whispered that Tom would never give her what she wanted, that only Sherlock could fill the hole in her heart.

She continued on with Tom resolutely, determined to try and be happy.

It didn't seem to work.

She introduced Tom to her friends because she thought if others believed that she had moved on, maybe she could believe it too.

It backfired, of course, and the looks of scepticism on their faces told her exactly what they thought of Tom (replacement, inferior look-alike, placeholder).

They were right.

She put on a cheerful face anyway, insisted to Greg that she had moved on, ignored the expressions of concern.

Then Sherlock came towards Tom to greet him, and she looked away, focusing on her conversation with Greg, but keeping one ear out for the inevitable deductions that would come from Sherlock's mouth.

(She didn't see Sherlock's smile upon seeing her, nor did she notice when it was replaced by a frown when he got a closer look at Tom).

The deductions never came. Sherlock left silently with John to deal with the press.

She was disappointed. If Sherlock had deduced something embarrassing or dangerous or worrying about Tom (as she had expected he would) it could have given her the flimsy excuse she needed to break her engagement.

Instead, he had obviously attempted to be 'nice' and while that was growth for Sherlock, she was irritated that he'd chosen such a time to try and be kind to her by refusing to point out her fiancé's flaws.

She and Tom left soon after. As they headed home in a taxi, Molly found herself desperate to get home and away from Tom.

(It wasn't a good sign when she needed a break from her fiancé, especially when she had barely seen him lately).  
They ended up having an argument about setting a date for the wedding. Apparently the talk of John and Mary's upcoming wedding had set him off and Molly found herself thinking that introducing Tom to her friends had been far too much trouble.

She wouldn't set a date, but her reluctance to explain her reasons to Tom made him suspicious (he was right to be, considering how so many of her recent thoughts involved how to escape the engagement).

The argument ended when they arrived at Tom's flat and he told her he'd visit her soon to see if she'd calmed down.

She went to bed with her mind full of dread and her dreams full of Sherlock.

When Tom, the next day, asked if she'd thought any more about when she wanted to be married, she gave him a date about nine months away. She'd never wanted too fancy a wedding and so the date was realistic.

She had to set a date, though, even if it was the last thing she wanted. That was what an engaged couple did, and they were usually much more excited about it than Molly was.

It would all blow up in her face eventually, she was sure. She didn't even have the excuse of thinking she was really in love with Tom. She knew she wasn't. She was just a coward.

Tom was pleased.

(What she really needed, she thought, was a smack around the head and a good dose of courage, because she doubted she'd ever manage to end her farce of an engagement to Tom without it).

When he went home a few hours later, she cried herself to sleep.

It wouldn't be the last time.

* * *

**I debated whether or not to put the bomb threat in here, but I thought Molly might not even know about it. I would think Mycroft would try to keep it quiet, and while Sherlock or John might mention it later to Molly, in this story she doesn't know in the immediate aftermath.**

**I'm a bit worried about the scene between Molly and John, because it just felt a bit awkward to me so sorry if it seems off.**

**Finally, some people may wonder why Molly is still with Tom when she's accepted she's in love with Sherlock. The answer is that she's scared, doesn't want to hurt Tom (even if carrying on the engagement might do that) and she is unable to read Sherlock enough to know whether he'd return her feelings. She treasures their friendship and doesn't want to ruin it by blatantly offering a love he might not return. Tom is safe to her. But don't worry, as we all know the break-up comes between 3x2 and 3x3.**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. It is much appreciated. **

**No beta, sorry for any mistakes.**


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